


Season 1 Episode 2 - Amuse-Bouche

by PaleGlimmer



Series: Hannibal Smut Companion [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Episode Related, First Time Blow Jobs, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season 1, Smut, Will Graham is a little shit, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 17:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18370793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleGlimmer/pseuds/PaleGlimmer
Summary: Right at the end of the episode (S01E02), Will and Hannibal are alone in the Doctor’s studio, talking again about cute things like that good vibe you get when you kill people.Will is distraught, thinks that getting blown may be a sensible treatment against stress. Would you say no to poor horny Will, you monster? Of course not, and Hannibal neither. Sexual shenanigans ensue.





	Season 1 Episode 2 - Amuse-Bouche

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my series Hannibal Smut Companion: a little piece of smut set in/around each episode. Every TV episode resets events/characters.
> 
> This episode is called Amuse-Bouche, mates, where will this ever lead us? I have no imagination, sorry. 
> 
> Am shite at tagging, please help. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are all so very welcome.

“Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?” Hannibal says, staring calmly into Will’s eyes. They are alone, facing each other, in the comfortable leather armchairs Hannibal Lecter uses in his therapy sessions.

The studio around them is dark and silent, only their voices resonate in the still air.

“Depends who you ask.” Will answers, hesitation in his voice, his body language betraying tension and nervousness.

“God's terrific.” Hannibal confirms, with a glint in his eyes and hint of enthusiasm in his voice. “He dropped a church roof on thirty-four of his worshipers last Wednesday night in Texas, while they sang a hymn.”

“Did God feel good about that?” There is disgust on Will’s face.

“He felt powerful.”

Both fall silent for a while.

Hannibal stands up, prepares two glasses of whiskey, and puts one in Will’s hand.

“Will, have you found effective ways to release the tension? It was part of our agreement that you tried at least some of the options we talked about last time.” Hannibal leans with his back on his desk, his long legs crossed in front of him.

“Well, I went to the shooting range. Beverly Katz helped me effectively with my stance, corrected my position in a way that works with my injured shoulder.”

“Was that successful in relaxing you?”

“Absolutely not.” Will answers swiftly with his usual smirk. He takes a small sip from the glass, closes his eyes, lets the whiskey do the work of grounding him.

Hannibal leaves his drink on the desk and moves closer to Will.

“Sometimes the simpler things are the most effective.” Hannibal says calmly, while sitting on the arm rest of Will’s seat and starting to massage his shoulders. “Physical therapy, for example, could be of help. You clearly store a lot of tension in your body.”

Will leans without hesitation into the man’s touch. Hannibal’s hands are big and strong and warm, they move slowly, modulating strength, pushing sensitive spots. Will sips from his glass again, enjoying the aged whiskey, the mind slowly relaxing following the rhythm of Hannibal’s movements. A sigh escapes Will’s parted lips. A sliver of pleasure after too many unsavory thoughts, finally.

“See? Sometimes things can be really simple, if we just allow them to be.” Hannibal almost whispers. “Finish your whiskey, Will.”

Will absentmindedly obeys Hannibal’s suggestion, his elbows resting on the knees, his head bent forward. He feels the warmth in his stomach expanding through out his body, mixing with the pleasant sensations that Hannibal’s expert hands give him. His shoulders unknots. His breath deepens.

Hannibal’s hands move closer to Will’s spine. One of the doctor’s hands grabs Will’s curls, at the nape of his neck, and pull him back on the chair. A slow, gentle but firm movement. An intimate thing to do. Maybe a little too much? Will lets it happen, he lets Hannibal unfurl him from his contracted position. Once he’s leaning against the chair, and Lecter’s hands have left him, he opens his eyes. Lecter is looking down at Will’s face, intently.

“I was enjoying it, Doctor. Is physical therapy over, already?” There’s mock disappointment in Will’s voice. He licks his lips then bites the bottom one, slowly. Will looks directly into Hannibal’s eyes, with a tilt of the head. Hannibal is the one who seems a little surprised, now. There is flirty intent both in the voice and in the body language of the man who was so disturbed by dark thoughts of violence and death only few minutes ago.

Hannibal cannot hide his amusement at this unexpected change of demeanor. ”Are you flirting with me, Will?”

“Are you flirting with me, Doctor Lecter? You’ve been looking at me as if I were an ingredient for one of your dinner parties since our very first meeting… isn’t it totally unprofessional?” Will is aggressive and confrontational. “At first I thought it was some kind of psychiatric obsession for a new dancing monkey, but now I see it’s something a bit different.”

“Maybe this is what you want, Will. You lead a quiet, lonely life. You suffered through various shocking experiences recently… and you know how common it is to go from thoughts of death to those of sex. It’s a natural mechanism of self preservation.” Hannibal uses his therapy voice. Calm, flat, distantly inhuman.

“You started it and now you’re backtracking, Doctor. You know what I really don’t want nor need in my life? Liars and cowards. Are you one of these? Because if you are, our conversations end here.”

  
Will’s tone is final, he’s staring right into the other man’s eyes while he speaks. Hannibal is still seating on the arm rest of Will’s seat - not the best position to defend proper psychiatric practice. After a beat, Hannibal’s voice goes softer “Our conversations are steps toward a solid friendship, at least this is my sincere hope. To bring you solace and relief outside the stiff limits of psychiatric therapy. Friendship certainly doesn’t preclude a different… development, in case we both want it.”

Will seems satisfied with the vague acknowledgment of his intuition. He exhales and closes his eyes. The inkling of a smirk lingers on his lips. “There’s some kind of specific relief I really could do with now, Doctor Lecter.” A beat. Still with his eyes closed, he adds “Pity that what I’m thinking about would probably ruin the knees of your elegant suit.”

Hannibal is left without words, for once. Will opens his eyes, lets one palm slowly run through one of Hannibal’s thigh. When it reaches the knee, the hand starts circling it with a deliberate movement. Hannibal feels the warmth of Will’s soft hand, he’s mesmerized by the long, delicate fingers moving slowly on the fabric. Still no words come to him.

“Of course it’s my shock talking. This is just a filthy fantasy that I shared with my psychiatrist, and I’ll make sure to never offer this kind of undesired, crass intimacy again.” Will adds. “Because this is not at all what you want with me, right?”

“Is this how you want to regain control and power over your life? With a show of sexual dominance toward me?” Hannibal has found his voice again. He goes for something vaguely accusatory to earn more time to think as things are moving faster than he expected and in a surprising direction, but Will is in no mood to play the philosopher. He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I want what I want. Good to know this is off the table.” Will’s voice is harsh and dry. “Now and forever, then.” He moves to stand, but Hannibal pushes him back on the armchair, a hand against his chest. The hand lingers way longer than necessary. Skin, and warmth, and a barrier of fabric between them, again. Hannibal has made his decision. They both know what that is.

Hannibal stands. He moves in front of Will and calmly kneels between his knees. Will smacks his lips, undoes the belt of his slacks, pulls down the zip, and then puts his hands back on the armrests. He stares at Hannibal with a full-on smirk and a look of challenge. “This is how much I’ll help. The rest is your job.” A beat. “Doctor Lecter.”

Hannibal tries to pull Will’s trousers further down, with brisk moves, to have more room to operate, but Will is not amenable to his wants. He looks at Will’s face: the man has closed his eyes, so there can be no personal connection that way. Hannibal is very pleased with all the new data he’s collecting about Will Graham. What a delicious surprise, to find that the vein of darkness flowing through Will’s soul would extend so easily to his sexual proclivities. And turn to cruelty and disdain without a second thought.  
Hannibal is very ready to relish the moment. He is, in fact, already experiencing a raging boner himself, pushing obscenely against his tailored pants.

Hannibal rests the palm of his hands on Will’s thighs, lightly. Heath flows between the two bodies. Slowly he moves his face down, until one cheek leans against the lower belly of the other man, the breath from his mouth crashing against Will’s half hard cock, still covered by his boxers. Hannibal breaths in loudly Will’s scent, warm of sweat and musk. It makes his head spin with excitement and anticipation. Then slowly, as he breaths out, push his open mouth against Will’s cock. With a quick glance Hannibal assesses that Will is still playing utter disinterest in what’s going on down-under, eyes closed and hands resting on the armchair, but also detects a quickening of pulse and a hitch in his breath already. And not much has happened yet: Will must be such a sensitive and entertaining instrument to play for sexual pleasure. Hannibal is enthralled, what an exciting turn of events.

Hannibal’s mouth moves slowly over the fabric tight against the man’s cock. Only lips, light and soft at first, then pressure increases. Then tongue too, as in a sloppy wet kiss, with a bit of teeth, here and there. A sound unwillingly escapes from Will’s chest, his eyes still closed, his thighs tensing under Hannibal’s palms.

The boxers’ front is all wet with Hannibal’s spit and Will’s own slick, straining to contain the hard dick pressed against the belly. Hannibal uses one hand to free Will’s cock form its fabric prison, and with the other he unzips his own pants and pulls out his own stiff cock. Hannibal etches in his memory the feel of Will’s most tender skin, its rosy color, the drops of precome along the slit. He starts licking the head of Will’s cock, savoring its taste and texture, while cradling the length with soft deft fingers. Slow, long licks, all around it and along the wet slit, where he delights in tasting the slick wetness. Hannibal’s pleasure is raising like a tall and violent wave inside his body, moving him briskly toward an orgasm that he wants to delay. Because that’s the plan he has for Will, too. That, and to measure exactly how much gratification delay Will can withstand.

Hannibal takes most of the length of Will’s cock in his mouth, and starts a fluid rhythm of hand strokes and sucking. He hums with delight while also taking care of his own engorged cock. Will is keeping his eyes closed, fists clenched on the armchair, struggling to staying still, his pelvis occasionally moving in time to Hannibal’s rhythm. His breath is hitching and irregular, low whimpers escape frequently from his pleading mouth.

Hannibal brings Will - and himself - to the verge of orgasm for a couple of times: every time, with surgical precision, he stills his mouth just in time, holding the cock still and tight at its base. Every time, a restrained but disappointed whine rises from Will.

“Well, this game has lasted long enough, Doctor.” Will growls.

Before Hannibal has time to register the words, Will grabs two fistful of Lecter’s hair, and starts fucking deep and quick right into Hannibal’s throat. He’s forceful and relentless, pushing the man’s head down and grinding with his hips inside Hannibal’s slack mouth with no mercy. The sudden violence pushes both suddenly over the edge: with a strained yell, Will comes hastily into Hannibal’s mouth, while Lecter struggles to breath, swallowing most of the load, spilling some. Hannibal is overcome with his own orgasm at the same time, reveling in the surge of violence coming from Will’s core, and ruining definitely his poor pants.

Hannibal releases the softening cock from his lips, gets back on his feet while cleaning his abused mouth with the back of a hand, a few steps back from Will’s seat. This is definitively not how he had imagined to coax his first orgasm out of Will Graham, but nonetheless intriguing. He got a glimpse of a garden of dark delights: now that the door is open, he considers that obtaining more won’t be too difficult.

Will pulls himself together calmly. Only hints of what has just happened are the moist front of his slacks and his rather rosy cheeks. Without ever looking back at Hannibal, Will Graham reaches for the door of the studio.

“See you next week, Doctor Lecter.” Will doesn’t even try to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “Oh, and sorry about the pants.”

**Author's Note:**

> Will as a little shit: that’s when he really shines. 
> 
> I’m shite with tags, please help.
> 
> I don’t do this for the money (…) so kudos and comments are life. Thank you!


End file.
